Bethany was the first site on the CIEE trip today. We wandered around the baptismal site and looked at the Jordan River, Israel, and churches. There were Greek Orthodox, Coptic, and Roman Catholic churches on the site. I was just wondering when the Independent Fundamental Baptists were going to get in on the action. I mean, we all know that while the Popes can only trace their direct lineage to Peter, we Baptists go all the way back to the first Baptist, John.
From Bethany we went to Mount Nebo, from which Moses saw the Promised Land and where he is supposedly buried. On our way there we saw corn. This made me immensely happy. We also saw Gypsy and Bedouin tents, gorgeous scenery, and greenery. And I have pictures up, so you, too, can revel in the green and rockiness of northwest Jordan.
I started out the day taking lots of pictures; however, by the end I realized that modern technology is probably a bad thing when it comes to picture taking. I can take as many pictures as I want without worrying about the cost. Unfortunately, this means I take a lot of pictures: suddenly everything became not “Oh, this is so beautiful,” but rather “This would make a cool picture!” Also, so many pictures get to be monotonous after awhile. Especially when they are rather devoid of people. Yes, I am my father’s daughter. Most of my pictures consist of signs, buildings, and landscapes. And occasionally food.
We went from Mt. Nebo to Madaba, famous for its churches and their mosaics. According to the tour guide, there vast number of churches in the region is due to the Ottoman Empire: the Christians in the area were forbidden to build new churches on anything other than the (Byzantine) ruins of previous churches and so they went to areas (such as Madaba) where there had been Christian settlements. This is also how the mosaics were found and brought to modern attention.
The main mosaic attraction in Madaba is in a Greek Orthodox church: the mosaic at one time covered a huge swath of ground and was a map of the biblical world. It is important to archeologists today (it led to the discovery, they said, of the baptismal site) because of its depiction of locations in the region. I was, however, disappointed by it: the hype is that it is this ginormous and very well preserved mosaic. Which it is. But it is also a mosaic….which means that (unless you are an archeologist), it is only a mosaic. Hence, not something to get hyped up about. The church wasn’t old and ruined enough to be interesting and not new and stylish enough to be beautiful. Although it was nice to see, it was a bit overwhelming.
However, lunch was good! (Lunch is always good in Jordan.) I had salad for the first time in weeks! Although I love Jordanian food, I must admit that I have missed my regular share of lettuce and raisins…I had to compensate by buying a huge package of figs last week. I meant to pack the figs for lunch every day for a week or two. Unfortunately, they have somehow disappeared in a day or two. Whoops.
After lunch, though, was when the adventure of the trip took place. We had twenty minutes or so to wander around downtown in the shopping area. Most of the people paired off, but as I didn’t have my money with me, I didn’t want to buy anything and I don’t like shopping in a narrow store while the merchant hovers over me, suggesting items. Shopping is very emotional and I need my space! So I set out alone, meandering on.
I saw a small wrought iron gate that was slightly open, half hidden down a side street between two aging storefronts. Assuming that God had given an adventure and it would be an affront to honor to refuse, I stepped through the open door (which could be, I suppose, a rather apt metaphor for my life in general). Just inside was a small courtyard with a sign half hidden off to the side: Jordan Ministry of Antiquities.
Before me was a small ruined villa: not impressive like Jerash or Umm Qais, but inviting in its humble way. There were a few metal walkways with roves arranged around the ruins, protecting the mosaics. Here, the mosaics were in better condition than in the Orthodox church and had vibrant colors and patterns. Madaba houses surrounded the area, enclosing the ancient building amongst crumbling modern ones. Grass grew all about, lending a park like atmosphere. I tiptoed past the official building in front, looking for anyone: seeing neither person nor money box, I decided it was probably free and wandered about the site for several minutes (taking more unnecessary pictures). I felt quite the explorer, all alone in an abandoned villa. Making the circuit, I cam back to the entrance, and was just passing the Ministry building to the exit, when a man appeared in the doorway.
“You walk around here?” he asked.
Oh, dear. I thought. I’ve done it. I’ve walked around a 5JD exhibit without paying and I don’t have any money on me and I’m supposed to be on the bus in five minutes.
“Yes. I walked around here.”
“Good. Good. Walk around.” He motioned. He tried to get across the idea that I should explore the park. Feeling obligated, I tried to get across the idea that I already had explored the park.
Finally, “Ah. Good. You went, yes? Come with me. Come with me.” He motioned me into the Ministry building. There was a bare plastered room, with two small desks shining under a single naked light bulb. He went to the desk and pulled out some brochures. “You visit? Where are you from?”
“America…?” I answered tentatively.
“America, good. You visit, yes? You tour? Here, take.” He handed me two brochures, one for Madaba and one for Petra. He pointed to the water-damaged Madaba pamphlet. “You are here, yes. You explore, okay? Petra? In Spanish,” he said, referring to the brochure.
“Esta bien. Puedo leer Espanol.” I told him. I needed to get back to the bus and didn’t want him to search for another brochure in English. “I can read Spanish.”
“You are from Spain?”
“No. I can read Spanish.”
“Spanish, English, okay? Spanish, English, good?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, okay. Here. Ma salaama.”
“Ma salaama,” I told him. “Good bye. Thank you!” and then I ran to catch the bus.
The adventure continued with our visits to Mukawir, an old fortress purported by Josephus to be where John the Baptist was beheaded by Herod. The site is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by impressive wadis and geological formations and in nearly utter isolation save for a few goatherds and caves. We arrived at the site, where two tour busses of Chinese tourists were already parked. The climb up to the top of the mountain was exhilaratinig: on the way, there was a small cave we entered and then just climbing up the gentle slope was beautiful. It reminded me in many ways of the Lake District. We climbed around the ruins for awhile, and then made our long way back to the bus. As we walked back to the tour bus, I was struck by the discrepancy: beside us, a goat-herd was guiding his sheep, in front of him was a younger boy carrying a boom box on his shoulder to catch either the attention of the sheep or keep the interest of the goat-herd. Can you imagine going about your daily business as a goatherd along the sides of a mountain containing thousands of years old ruined fort while groups of tour busses roar into the area on your winding roads so the tourists can stop to take pictures of you and the piles of stone you see every day?
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